


Finis Mundi

by belen_abo



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Gen, References to Catholicism, based on a book, they're both french okay, well kids i have no idea either, why did I do this?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belen_abo/pseuds/belen_abo
Summary: A scribe and a bard go on a quest to gather three amulets in order to prevent the end of the world.This is basically a translation of the novel "Finis Mundi" by author Laura Gallego, with a few minor changes to make it work with these characters. Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so excuse any incorrect expressions or awkward dialogue. Enjoy!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Finis Mundi](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/480589) by Laura Gallego. 



In chorus with the wild screams of the attackers, the flames that engulfed the abbey crackled ferociously and rose towards a moonless sky, casting light over the near forest. The barn’s roof collapsed, as did the vault of the church that had been just ransacked. Hidden within the shadows of the trees, a figure ran through the forest, breathless, stumbling, looking for shelter. He faltered and fell onto the damp grass. He rolled to a nearby scrub and hid there, sobbing quietly. Only when the voices faded in the distance did he dare to look back at the remains of what had been his home for the last couple of years. Trembling, he watched as the fire slowly died out. He felt overcome with discouragement; but, despite his youthfulness, despite his apprehension, he didn’t loosen the tight grip which held against his chest a codex which he had managed to save from the flames.

In his head, a terrible phrase kept echoing: _mundi termini appropinquante…_ His mouth muttered the words of a prayer, but his throat didn’t make a noise. _Mundi termini appropinquante…_

 

 

An increasingly growing crowd had gathered in the town square, captivated by a strong and firm voice that recited a long sung poem. Sat on the church’s stone steps, a young scribe seemed to be the only one not interested in the story being told. His black cloak represented one of the many monasteries that the Order of Cluny had scattered throughout Normandy and France. A young lady walking by stared at him for a moment and, feeling sympathy for him, went up to him.

> "What’s wrong, brother? – she asked -. You look distressed."

The boy looked up and smiled. He was pale, and his clothes did little to hide his small frame.

> "Have you heard of the monastery of Saint Paul?" – he asked the villager.

She tilted her head, thinking.

> "The one on the mountains, near the forest?"
> 
> "There was an attack last week. They left no stone unturned."

The girl’s expression transformed into one of realization, and resentment.

> "Hungarians – she spat. – I didn’t know they had gotten that far. Nothing can stop those savages."

The boy was silent. The girl looked at him fixedly.

> "Do you not have a home anymore? Don’t worry, the abbot of Saint Patrice will take you in. Is that what brings you around here?"

He shook his head and smiled with some complaisance.

> "No, I’ve got a long way to go. I’m looking for a place called the Golden City."

The girl shrugged.

> "Never heard of it."

He didn’t seem surprised. He hadn’t expected her to know of it.

> "You must have read lots of books – added the villager – Don’t you know where it is?"

The boy averted his gaze.

> "I don’t think it’s something you can find in a book" – he said.
> 
> "Then ask him – replied the girl, pointing with her chin towards the crowd-. He’s a very famous troubadour. He’s traveled all around the world, and he knows tons of stories – her eyes shone with a hint of admiration-. If what worries you has something to do with a legend, I’m sure he knows about it."

He didn’t answer. For a humble girl like her, a bard must have been nothing short of a hero. Him, on the other hand, harbored doubts about the wisdom of a simple wandering story-teller. But he didn’t say anything, and just smiled when the girl bid him goodbye. He stayed momentarily, while the voice of the bard, narrating the feats of some Carolingian hero, echoed throughout the square.

His monastery’s norms warned him about the dangers of relating himself with people of that kind. Bards were usually not to be trusted; they told stories and recited poems, but they also divulged obscene songs, they deceived and stole if they had the chance. They were, additionally, vagabonds, wandering individuals with dubious morals.

He scowled. He could be famous, he could act in princes’ courts and have the public dazzled; but he was still a bard. On the other hand, the secret he had taken with him in his escape from the abbey was too heavy a load to be carrying by himself. And any abbot would tell him was his own superior had told him a few weeks back: “Forget about that nonsense, boy. They offend God.”

The only thing he could do is continue on his own. But the world was pretty big, and he didn’t know where to start. Maybe he should find a knight to escort him; but all knights has better things to do. He heard cheers and applause: the bard had finished his act, and was thanking the donatives that a big dog was collecting walking among the crowd carrying a plate in his mouth. The boy spotted the reciter among the people; he now realized how tall he was. He was a young man – appeared to be around the same age as he was -, with slanted-down eyes and a curled smile. He had light brown hair that was sticking out in all directions, which gave him an overall lazy appearance. He didn’t appear to have shaved in a few days. The boy found himself considering the villager’s suggestion. After thinking about it for a few seconds, he shrugged.

> “Well”, he said to himself. “This guy is used to tell extraordinary stories. One more won’t surprise him.”

He got up, resolved to approach him and ask him about the Golden City. He walked towards the bard while he packed up his stuff, called the dog to him with a whistle and loaded his instrument on his back. The boy watched him with growing curiosity. The story-teller possessed a strange calmness and nonchalance that made him different from other bards, that entertained their audience by their antics and tomfoolery. He watched him pet the dog with a fond expression and, then, look straight at him. He blushed at the sudden attention on him.

> "What are you looking at?" – he said, not without some edge in his voice.
> 
> "You. – replied the other, seemingly not bothered-. You’ve been watching me for a while. Do you not like me performing so close to church? I’ve got a permit from the parson."

He got even more red.

> "It’s not that – he said-. I’d like to ask you something. They say you’ve travelled a lot and that you know plenty of stories."

The man addressed him with an inquisitive gaze.

> "I’m in a hurry, buddy. I intend to get to Louviers before nightfall, so I’m gonna get going now."
> 
> "I’ll be brief! Do you know where the Golden City is?"

The bard watched him with interest.

> "There are lots of golden cities in lots of stories. I know a couple of places that could be called that."

The other seemed to dishearten at the reply.

> "I understand – he said-. Thank you, anyway."

He turned to leave, but the bard felt intrigued.

> "Why do you want to know? - he asked-. And why are you asking me? The abbot in your monastery will be able to inform you better than me."

The boy turned to face him completely and looked at him sternly.

> "He’s dead – he said.- They’re all dead."

Realization dawned on the story teller’s face.

> "You come from Saint Paul. I’ve heard of what happened. I didn’t know there had been survivors."

The scribe just looked at him inexpressively.

> "But you have to keep going forward – the bard carried on-. Everyone goes through a rough patch. We all have to mature someday. You’re not special."

The other gaped at him. He was gonna reply, but the other continued:

> "I was a kid when my village’s liege scorched it all and killed my family. I must have been five or six years old – he talked in a cold and dispassionate tone, as if he had lost the ability to feel hurt-. I had to leave, and sometimes I was cold and hungry, but it wasn’t that bad. But you, you will find refuge in any monastery. They’ll listen to you there."
> 
> "No one will listen to me in any monastery – replied the other in a low voice-. And I’m not ever going to try. I have to get to the Golden City and time’s running out."

The bard looked at him strangely.

> "You say very weird things, buddy. Either you’re crazy or you have a good story to tell. If you explain it to me, maybe I can find some clue about that Golden City."

The scribe didn’t reply. He seemed dubitative.

> "It’s fine – the bard shrugged-. I don’t have all day, and I can’t wait around for you to decide. Good luck."

He turned around and started walking away.

> "Hey, wait!"

The other ran after him.

> "I can join you for a while – he said-. Until we get to the next town. I’ll tell you what I know, and maybe you’ll be able to help me… If it’s true what they say about you."
> 
> "People talk a lot. I don’t usually stop to listen what they say about me. What’s your name?"
> 
> "Ryan – the scribe replied, feeling grateful-. Ryan Bergara."

The bard nodded.

> "I’m Shane.


	2. Chapter 2

The young religious scribe had forgotten all his prejudices. While he walked alongside the tall bard on a dirt path flanked by birch trees, he asked himself what had impressed him so much about this man to have asked him to accompany him. “The world is crazy”, he told himself.

"So?" – asked Shane after a while.

"I was born in a poor family; we were two brothers and I was the weaker of the two. I was a burden for my family, and I was captivated by the austerity and spirituality of Cluny monks. Because of that, my parents got me in a monastery at a very young age. That was twelve years ago, when I was ten. There I learned Latin and many other things, but as I was specially passionate about books, they put me to work as a scribe. The real story begins a couple of weeks ago, when I had to copy in the _scriptorium_ a particular book. Have you heard about the Apocalypse?"

"The Apocalypse? My village’s parson used to tell us stuff when we were kids, to scare us. About terrible catastrophes that will shake the world when the Judgement Day is near."

"Hunger, plagues, wars and epidemics – Ryan nodded; he spoke with some difficulty, as he had to keep up with the long strides of the bard-. The world is getting old, and thus so it has to die. The end of Christ’s reign over Earth is coming near. The end of the world, or so says the Apocalypse, will occur a millennium after the birth of Jesus. Exactly three years from now."

Shane stared at him.

"That’s all? You’re telling me the end of the world is near and we have to atone for our sins?"

"No, of course not – Ryan panted-. In spite of what the Apocalypse says, no mortal can pinpoint the date for the final day. Any religious person knows that – he paused to catch his breath-. Hey, would you mind if we stopped for a moment? Your walking is too fast. Also, I want to show you something."

They stopped near a fountain to rest. Ryan put his head under the water that flowed between the rocks and he stood up, completely soaked. Shane waited with some impatience. Ryan got his bag and took out a book. The bard approached him and observed the book with an odd glint in his eyes.

"That codex must be worth a fortune."

Ryan startled and turned to look at him. Shane noticed.

"I’m not gonna steal it from you – he said, the glint replaced with amusement-. I like books, and this one is miniated. It’s a gem."

The other didn’t answer. He was looking for something in the codex’s pages. As he passed the pages, Shane looked over his shoulder at the illustrations.

"They’re terrible" – he commented.

"They’re representations of the end of the world – Ryan stopped flipping to show him the pictures-. It was given to me for copying."

"And you know how to paint stuff like these?" – asked Shane, pointing at the miniatures.

Ryan blushed.

"No, not really… not yet. I only copy the texts. Other reproduce the illustrations. But what’s important is not the book – he resumed his search between the pages, until he found a bundle of them loose-. Here it is. This is what I wanted to show you."

He passed the pages on to Shane, who gave them a quick glance over, and looked back at Ryan.

"What’s wrong? Oh, sorry. You can’t read, is that it? Here, I’ll read them for you."

"I can read – replied Shane with some mirth-, but only romance. No one taught me Latin."

"Oh…. Sorry – Ryan reddened-. I’ll explain it to you. Approximately forty years ago, an old hermit, Bernardo de Turingia, presented himself before an assembly of barons and told them that God had revealed, through a series of visions, that the world would end in the year thousand."

"It’s not the first time I hear this kind of stuff. It’s a strange obsession that’s overcome some lately. What else?"

"Well of course, they didn’t believe him. But he described his visions in some scrolls that I found in the codex. I have reasons to believe that these revelations are authentic."

"What reasons?"

"Among other things, he predicted the exact date of the franc king Hugo Capeto. Day, month and year. He died last year, and Bernardo de Turingia guessed right. He couldn’t have known; he died more than thirty years before the monarch."

"As I don’t know Latin, I can’t check to see if you’re telling the truth. At any rate, even if the world was to end in the year thousand, what does that have to do with your Golden City?"

"Have some patience. According to the hermit, the Wheel of Time is sustained on three axis, three amulets of great power: the Past Axis, the Present Axis, and the Future Axis. Every thousand years, someone gathers them to summon the Spirit of Time and convince him that humanity deserves to live another thousand years. Bernardo wasn’t sure, but he believed the last one could have been Jesus of Nazareth."

"A Cluny scribe declaring Jesus saved the world using three magical amulets, but only for one millennium – Shane commented, astonished-. Buddy, you’re not right in the head."

Ryan seemed uncomfortable.

"I’m not saying that’s what happened."

"So, you want to summon this… Spirit, so that man can live another thousand years – Shane summarized-. And you have those axis with you?"

"That’s what this is about: they’re distributed all throughout Europe. Bernardo saw them in his dreams, he saw the places where they’re kept, but they were places he didn’t know because he had never been. He describes one of them as a grand Golden City, symbol of the earthly power, with a magnificent castle. That’s why I’m looking for it."

"So, one of the jewels is there, and you’re on a quest to find it. You won’t get very far with that, buddy."

"I don’t have a choice – replied Ryan severely-. We’re running out of time. We have to find the Axis of Time before the millennium is over. If we don’t, the Wheel will stop and everything will be over."

Shane shrugged.

"Doesn’t the Church say Christ will come to Earth to judge humanity eventually? What does it matter if it’s now or later?"

"It matters because we’ve just started to make the world ours. Humanity hasn’t had time to learn from our mistakes and become better."

"Well I’d say a thousand years is plenty of time" – noted the bard.

Ryan moved away from him, irritated.

"I’ll continue on my own – he said coldly -, if you don’t believe that there’s things in the world that are worth saving."

"I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, buddy. What do your superiors say about all this?"

"That this whole thing is idiotic and that I should stop thinking about it."

"Now I understand why you’re telling me this. But, supposing that’s true, why do you think humanity deserves saving? You grew up in a monastery. You know nothing about the real world. You haven’t seen people starving, working day after day to feed their children, fighting so that they can survive the next winter. Why prolong the suffering, the sickness, the hunger? The world is old, you say. Let it die."

"Don’t… Don’t you want to keep on living?"

"My conscience is clear and I’m not scared for myself. I’ve traveled a lot, buddy; I’ve seen a lot. I’m sorry I have to be the one to break it to you, but life isn’t really how it’s portrayed in your picture books. It’s not worth preserving another thousand years. That’s all I can really say. And now, goodbye, I wish you good luck."

He grabbed his satchel, fixed to leave.

"Wait! – Ryan stopped him -. At least tell me whether you know about the Golden City. A grand city full of riches, impressive to all who come upon it."

Shane pondered for a moment.

"It could be any big city – he said -. But, with that description, I’d lean towards Aachen."

"Aachen?"

_"Aix-la-Chapelle._ The residence of emperor Otto III."

"Have you ever been there?"

"No – Shane confessed-. But I’ve thought about visiting someday."

"Do you want to come with me?"

Shane smiled.

"Are you seriously thinking of going? You’re crazier than I thought. It takes three months to get to Aachen… Four in winter. Five, at your speed – he added with a mocking tone-. And that’s not taking into account any problems you might find on the way."

Ryan didn’t answer, just stared at him, expectant.

"You don’t get it, buddy – said the bard-. I travel alone. Even if I wanted to go to Aachen, I wouldn’t let you go with me. You’d be a burden."

Ryan shrugged.

"As you wish. I’ll go by myself then."

He put his satchel over his head and stood up.

"Pleasure meeting you, Shane – he said gravely-. I hope we meet again…"

"…before the world ends" – finished the other with mirth.

Ryan ignored the sarcastic comment. He bid goodbye with a wave of his hand and started walking down the dirt path. Shane stood still, watching him. He cursed under his breath.

"Wait!"

Ryan turned around.

"You have to go North – Shane grumbled-. You’ll never get to Aachen that way. Well – he added-, let’s just say you’ll never get to Aachen, period."

"Well I’m going to try."

"I don’t know what they teach you at the abbey, to be honest – mumbled Shane-. Apparently, that whole _era et labora_ stuff doesn’t agree with you. Wait!"

The scribe had resumed walking. The bard cursed again and ran up to him.

"I’ll feel guilty if something happens to you – he explained-. I suppose you at least know how to speak Germanic."

"No – Ryan confessed-. Is it not similar to French?"

"Dear God – the bard muttered-, you’re not gonna last a day. The best thing you can do is look for an abbey and stay there enjoying a nice, calm life until the world ends."

"You know I won’t do that – Ryan replied softly-. I’m going to Aachen with or without you."

"Fine – Shane sighed-, I guess it doesn’t really matter to me one place or the other, and I don’t know many German ballads. It’ll be a good opportunity to learn."

Ryan smiled.


End file.
